


Home, Capital of the Multiverse

by Galvanon



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Supernatural, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:21:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21536425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galvanon/pseuds/Galvanon
Summary: I would like to apologize in advance for the insanity to follow. This has been fermenting in my brain for the longest time so hopefully it ends up as good in words as it is in my head. This is gonna have a bit of a slow start but bear with me.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Jensen Ackles/Danneel Harris, Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins, Misha Collins/Vicki Vantoch
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to apologize in advance for the insanity to follow. This has been fermenting in my brain for the longest time so hopefully it ends up as good in words as it is in my head. This is gonna have a bit of a slow start but bear with me.

The Dragon learned from an early age. Caring got you hurt. Always. So she found a solution. She stopped caring. She ferried her emotions away to lands that no human would ever actually visit. She sent them the Middle Earth, to ride to battle with the Men of Numenor. She sent them to Hogwarts, to prank bad professors and fight Death Eaters. She sent them to Baker Street, to solve crimes and comfort those poor, lost boys. She sent them to Kansas, to hunt werewolves and fight angels. She sent them to space, to ride in the Millenium Falcon. She sent them soaring and tunneling, to lands she could only dream of.  
And dream she did. Her dreams could have made books if the right author got ahold of them. The Great Adventure of the Horse in the Mountain, for one, could have made an excellent movie. But perhaps more than that were her dreams of what the future could be. She spent the large majority of her time daydreaming. If The Dragon was staring into space, there was a fifty-fifty chance she was either plotting world domination or inserting herself into her favorite stories to rescue favorite characters in the nick of time. Breaking her out of that trance? Bad idea. VERY bad idea.  
Perhaps this was why The Dragon’s chosen career was that of an assassin. She cared little for the law and less for humanity. She was ruthless. It was in this profession that she became known as The Dragon. She was never caught. She was cold, yes, but let it not be said that there were none on this planet she loved. At college (she majored in forensic criminology and had a Masters for psychology, then went on to serve 2 years in the army, after which she spent 5 years in the American Special Forces) she had met a man who did not try to change her. He was her voice of reason, the one that pointed out the flaws in her plans and told her it was not a good idea to get drunk and take a jump out of a helicopter. Was it any surprise then, that she loved him? Jack was her rock, her one anchor to the world of normalcy. They never had kids, but they had pets. Lots of pets. Whose names happened to all be fandom references.  
Another eccentricity of hers was that every night she would quietly utter her prayers. Not to God, no, she prayed to Loki, Thor, Hades, and Poseidon, in that order. She never asked for things, she just told them about her day and asked about theirs. Every day, without fail, not knowing if they heard her. Not knowing that they looked forward to that time of day.  
When she passed, she was 98, curled up next to Jack. She was buried with her favorite knives.  
I know, I know. You probably want to know if this was printed as a mistake. Is this going to be a hundred blank pages? No. It isn’t. Read on. It’ll all make sense (maybe).


	2. The Girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious phone call leads our young heroine to a sketchy government meeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So background: It's 1933 when this takes place, I'm sorry it took so long, and I'm apologizing in advance for the cliffhanger but the next chapter is almost done so have fun.

On April 1st, 1925, a girl was born to a woman on her deathbed, her father, for once, unable to do a thing, for he had expended too much energy into ensuring she had been born. He did not cry for her, because he had long ago become accustomed to death. He picked up the girl, giving her a wan smile. He handed her to the nurse, instructing her to put the girl up for adoption. With one glance backwards, he swept out of the room, and was long gone by the time the nurse came rushing out with the necessary paperwork. A few days later the babe joined the family of Tiffany Nox, a kindly Coloradan who had no children of her own but did have 4 cats.  
That girl is me. Before my father dumped me into the arms of the nurse, he also gave me a name. For that reason I am not known as Cimorene Nox, but as Cimorene Stone. It rather pained me for the first few years of my life to not share my mother’s name, for she was the only mother that really mattered to me. I am told that I am an extraordinarily smart and talented child. I disagree. I don’t feel particularly smart. I mean, it’s not my fault I was reading Machiavelli’s The Prince in school while the teacher was reiterating 1+1. It’s not my fault I was sprinting over the top of the swings to tag that kid. It’s not my fault I threw that bully into the wood pile for stealing my book. Okay, maybe that one was my fault but that was ONCE. Fine it was twice but that’s irrelevant. What matters is that I am not, by human standards, anyhow, a normal child.  
It did not take long for me to figure this out. It did not take long for the authorities to figure it out either, unfortunately. The thing was, if it had been just me, perhaps I would have flown under their radar. But it wasn’t just me. The year I was born, and the two years after, an unprecedented percent of the children born had extraordinary talents for their tender ages. In fact, in the course of those three years, the “genius kids” (as they were later dubbed) numbered at least 80 million. The governments around the world took notice of 6,869,382 of them. The rest were lucky, I suppose.  
It was the year I turned eight that they did something about it. I suppose they wanted everyone involved to be at least five. I was sitting at the table writing up a paper on the way to tell different types of cigarette ash apart (I was curious after reading Conan-Doyle’s works). Mum was washing the dishes and humming Louis Armstrong’s “All of Me”. A normal day.  
Then the phone rang.  
The innocent ringing noise didn’t sound like the end of life as I knew it. It didn’t sound like an end to the (relative) peace I had enjoyed for the past eight years. They tell you looks are deceiving, but man oh man, a sound can be so much more so.  
I wasn’t paying much attention to the conversation until I heard my name mentioned. Mum was arguing heatedly with whoever was on the other end, and it sounded to me like she didn’t want me to go do something and the other person was pressuring her. I tapped my pencil on the desk to get her attention. She looked up. “Who is it?” I mouthed. She only shook her head and motioned for me to continue my writing. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my work.  
She was on the phone for an hour. An entire hour. By the end I had given up and moved to my room to write because the noise was too much and she still wouldn’t give me any answers.  
I heard the sound of a phone being slammed down, then loud footsteps headed up to my room. A knock. A rest. Three knocks in quick succession. Mum wanted to talk.  
“Come in.”  
She’d only opened the door when I started talking.  
“Who was that? What did they want with me? Why were you upset about it? Actually, scratch that. You’re still upset, judging by the set of your shoulders. The person was obviously of some importance and had substantial power, because if they didn’t, you would never have agreed to whatever it was that they were asking. I would know. Yes, you agreed to it. If you hadn’t you wouldn’t be wearing that fake smile to try and convince me to agree to whatever it is. As to what it is, I have to assume it involves travelling. Your eyes keep trailing to the suitcase in my closet. This thing greatly upsets you, leading me to believe-”  
“Correct on all accounts, though it appears I will have to develop a new fake smile. The person was a representative of the government, and they want to bring you and a group of ‘children like you’ to the capital to test your abilities.”  
My brain was whirring away at all the possibilities when I realized the full implications of what she was saying.  
“‘Children like me’? What do you mean, children like me?”  
“I’m just repeating what the man told me. It seems that we’re not being given a choice in this, so pack up and be ready by 9:00 am tomorrow. I know, I know, don’t give me that look, I’m not happy about it either. It’ll be fine dear.” With those inspiring words and a kiss to my head, she stepped out and left me alone.  
That night I dreamed. It started out like many of the dreams I’d had in the past. These dreams never ceased to confuse me, as many of the things in them were not, to the best of my knowledge, in existence. A backstreet bar, full of blurry faces, a thick roll of cash and a thin manila folder. The smell of alcohol permeated the entire building. A handshake, then a long flight (I’d only known the planes for what they were due to someone mentioning it in a dream. It looked very different from the ones I’d seen). A nondescript black car (which was far different from what I was used to), a drive to a hotel. Checking in, then another drive to get downtown. The steps of some run-down apartment complex, an empty room. Hands performing a familiar routine, smooth metal in my hands. A red cross centered on a blur of a person. A tightening of my fingers. A sharp recoil, the taste of metal in the air. Hands repacking the carefully balanced equipment. Another car ride. A night spent sleepless in the hotel. Back on the plane. Sliding into a familiar, lovely car (which was just as odd as the first). Slipping back into the house. Only this time, something was different. Usually, I simply slipped into a bed and went to sleep(which meant I woke up but hey). This time, a striking man in his thirties was waiting inside. I took in his appearance and catalogued it for later examination. Dream Man broke into a grin at my appearance, sweeping me into a hug and pressing a kiss to my hair. I flinched back, only to discover I had no control over dream me.  
“Hey, Cim.”  
Dream me replied with no prompting from me. “Hey, you.”  
“Easy one, wasn’t it?” He smirked against my hair.  
“How’d you know?”  
“You don’t have the air of excitement you always get when you get a challenge.”  
“You know me too well.”  
“‘Course I do, I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”  
“Careful, if you know too much I might have to kill you.” Dream me had a teasing tone.  
“You wouldn’t. I’m your husband!” cried Dream Man in mock outrage.  
I filed that bit away for later as well.  
Dream Man opened his mouth to say more but all that came out was an obnoxious beeping noise. I stared as he kept beeping at me.  
“...Jack?” I asked. I started. Where in the world had I gotten a name for Dream Man?  
“BEEP.” said Jack.  
Then hands were shaking me and I snapped awake to see Mom glowering at me.  
“Up! We have a flight to catch!”  
I scrambled for my clothes (and spent a solid 3 minutes struggling into the skirt. Honestly, the things are ridiculous. I’d tried to no avail to get Mom to buy me some trousers like the boys next door (only to hear her say that as a girl, I had to wear a skirt. Ridiculous.)). I grabbed my suitcase and flung myself down the stairs to get breakfast.

A few nerve wracking hours later, Mom and I stepped off the plane, having survived our first flight. We checked into the hotel that the government had reserved for the families whose children were attending the “Conference of Minds” (or so proclaimed the banner in the lobby). The conference began at precisely 3:30 p.m. in the building across the street. We went at 3:20.  
The doors opened to a small, square room, which contained a desk with a pretty receptionist behind it, a large sign with an eagle and some lengthy title of the agency in charge, and two large metal doors flanked by armed guards. There were several families waiting to get in. We watched as the children were shown through the doors and the parents ushered out. Finally, the line got to us.  
“Name?” asked the receptionist.  
“Tiffany Nox, and my daughter is Cimorene Stone.”  
“Oh good, that’s everyone then. If you would sign here, ma’am, we can get started.”  
Mom signed, and I was ushered through the doors into a scene I will never forget:  
There was a large sign on the wall, reading:  
Conference of Minds  
02.17.1933  
Below that was a clock reading 3:29:59  
A giant crowd of children ages 5-8 were milling beneath it.  
I took all this in calmly, unaware that my life was about to turn upside down.  
Then the doors closed behind me, the clock changed to 3:30:00, and memories flooded my head.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp


End file.
